


Oversight

by rapacityinblue



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-04
Updated: 2012-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-28 23:00:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/313120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rapacityinblue/pseuds/rapacityinblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While the rest of AVALANCHE drinks themselves silly in celebration of saving the world (again), Reeve and Vincent have a Talk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oversight

The bar was alight with the glow of a hundred paper lanterns. Music and shouts poured through the windows, and nearby neighbors muttered about the ruckus as they blocked their ears with pillows. Over it all, a woman’s voice could be heard shouting to keep it down, ruffians, they’d disturb the children.

Privately, Vincent felt any children who lived over an operating bar had to be either incredibly resilient or chronically sleep deprived, if not both. Granted, Tifa had reformed her bar to cater more to the lunch and dinner crowd, but the nightly regulars at 7th Heaven still had the ability to get awfully loud when the mood struck them.

Especially these regulars. Vincent had forgotten that when Cid suggested “a couple of cold ones,” he actually meant a thorough exploration of alcohol poisoning. Ordinarily Shera’s influence was enough to keep him in line, but when he had the backing of not only Barret, but Cloud, as well, the women-folk yielded the inevitable, voicing cryptic warnings that they would not be held responsible for the morrow’s consequences.

And so the patrons of 7th Heaven were escorted out early, and others left the table one by one until only seven of the original eight remained.

Vincent left Yuffie loudly explaining a Wutaian “tradition” involving a shot of rice wine, a mug of Tifa’s best beer, and chopsticks. He nearly tripped over Red XIII as he excused himself from the bar – the creature, excluded from the festivities by biology, had curled into a corner around one small child who’d managed to escape Tifa’s bedtime roundup. It was only as he stepped over the canine’s tail (carefully avoiding an extreme case of hot-foot) that it occurred to him to look for their other “animal” companion.

A quick headcount revealed three brunettes and two blonds clustered around the bar, plus himself, Red, and the sleeping child. Curious more than concerned, Vincent moved past the assembly (now preoccupied with watching Yuffie leap into the air and come down hard on the bar, something he presumed contributed to the mixing of her drink) and climbed the stairs. Behind him, he heard the girls trying to dissuade a much heavier Barret from following the young ninja’s example.

He found Reeve in Cloud’s study, typing into a phone with one hand. A screwdriver dangled from the other. Vincent paused outside the door frame, reasoning. Curiosity now sated, he had every reason to leave the other man alone.

His gaze fell on the animatronic body sprawled across Reeve’s lap. In truth, when the rush and chaos of the battle was over, what did he and the commissioner have to discuss?

He could, he realized later, have left without ever alerting the other man to his presence, but he found himself pushing the door open, instead. Reeve spun at once, coming up with the only weapon he had at hand: the screwdriver he’d been using to tune the disabled Cait Sith. Vincent held up his claw, open palmed, in response, and the younger man relaxed, nodding slightly.

“I’m surprised you’re not down with the others,” Reeve remarked, bending his head back to his task. “Isn’t this a party in your glory, O Savior of the World?” There was a slight curl of lip under the man’s mustache, taking the sting out of the taunt. Vincent shrugged one shoulder in both acknowledgment and dismissal, not moving from his spot.

The silence persisted, more comfortable than either would have expected. Occasionally Vincent shifted his weight or Reeve let out a quiet curse, pulling out a wire, stripping back the casing and twisting ends together with remarkably agile fingers.

“Thank you.” Reeve said eventually, taking a sip from a glass of red wine that Vincent had not noticed before. Remembering his manners, Reeve proffered the bottle to the other man with a raised eyebrow. Vincent shook his head no. Reeve shrugged, continuing after another sip. “I know you did not wish to be involved in the conflict with Deepground.”

“I did not have a choice, as events progressed,” Vincent responded. “My presence was necessary.”

Reeves lips twisted again, this time far less pleasantly. “Indeed,” he agreed.

Taking in the other man’s displeasure, Vincent paused remembering the devastation of the WRO's headquarters after Azul's attack. “Were losses for your organization high?”

“No technology was damaged that cannot be repaired, with the exception of one airship which will have to be replaced.” Reeve spoke with the tone of one who’d repeated a report enough times that they finally believed it.

Vincent raised an eyebrow at the evasion. “And human casualties?”

“Surprisingly low,” Reeve murmured, considering the creature in his lap. Another silence fell, heavier than the last. “They each develop differently, you know,” Reeve said finally.

Vincent shifted slightly, glancing at the Cait before reaching for another topic. “Cid seemed very surprised at how quickly you’d risen to prominence,” he said.

Again, the bitter not-smile. “Cid would,” Reeve replied. Vincent wondered if perhaps he should have taken the bottle, to gauge Reeve’s consumption.

Silence. It occurred to Vincent that this scenario could only be some sort of humorous role-reversal. He considered going to fetch Tifa, but remembered the situation downstairs and reconsidered; her presence was probably necessary to the survival of the others. Still, mothering and comfort were her specialties. Human contact was emphatically _not_ one of his.

Reeve, at least, seemed content not to offer any more commentary. Vincent shifted his weight against the door, and considered the man as he returned to work.

Vincent was good at observation, but there were certain cues he missed: he realized that now as he watched the commissioner rake back his hair and bend over the robot-creature in his lap. The skin around Reeve’s eyes was too-tight, and parched for moisture. Inside his lash-line, the area some women darkened with a thick line of coal, was irritated red from tears, rubbing, and lack of sleep. Capillaries stood out against the white of his eyeballs.

 _They each develop differently, you know._

 _Human casualties? Surprisingly low._

 _There's plenty of stuffed toys like my body around, but there's only one me! Don't forget me even if another Cait Sith comes along!_

“He transferred the data back, before Nero --”

“Not all of it,” Reeve murmured, “but enough.”

“Reeve...”

“No technology was damaged --” Reeve's tone was vicious as he yanked free another wire. “-- that cannot be repaired.” He looked up to find Vincent standing directly over him and, with a sudden jerk, pushed back from the desk, dumping the animatron from his lap and sending his chair skittering across the floor behind him. But Vincent, unphased by the sudden movements, reached over the desk behind him, locked his fingers around the neck of Reeve's wine-bottle and, with one smooth movement, sent it sailing across the room to shatter in the far corner.

Their eyes stayed locked for several long moments until Reeve turned his back on  
Vincent to right the chair and collect Cait's limp body, working hard to appear composed. Vincent, listening to his ragged breathing, was unconvinced.

“That was Tifa's best Cabernet,” Reeve said eventually, pressing a panel between Cait's shoulders and tightening it into place with his screwdriver.

“I'll apologize to her in the morning,” Vincent replied, watching as he set creature on the floor.

“Her?” Reeve snorted. Both men watched as the tiny creature scampered out of the room, crown tilted perilously low over its ear. “I'm the one who paid for it.”

“Hmm.”

It wasn't until both men left the room that Reeve spoke again, as he was shutting the door behind himself.

“Thank you.”


End file.
